Between crucifixion and resurrection 

Yesterday I stopped. Stopping allowed some time for feelings to rise about flooding–my own and the many, many more from places near and far.  The smaller sadness of my heart being broadened and deepened by the greater sadness of my neighbors flooded throughout our world. 

Recently I’ve thought of the words of a friend who flooded for the first time from Harvey.  My friend said that he had always loved the sound of waking to rain–but that quotidian joy had been destroyed by the new association of that sound and the feeling of stepping off his bottom steps into the waters of a flooded home. That’s what disasters and tragedies can do–take something we love and pair it with something painful. 

I experienced that on my trip. I love waterfalls, but on this trip to Iceland the sound of rushing waters has become connected with seeing the destruction of flood waters in my home. 

When my friend wanted to go visit nearby waterfalls yesterday, I decided to stay in our lovely hotel and knit and tend to some flood matters in Houston. 

Later that afternoon when the sun had come out, I asked my friend if she wanted to return to the waterfalls and take me with her. Of course she did–she’s that kind of friend. 

As we approached the stunning beauty of the falls,  I could feel my heart and soul fill with sadness at the same time my eyes were filled with the extravagant view of waterfall after waterfall after waterfall. Pain and strength and healing all at once. 

As we drove back to our hotel, we spotted a lovely church just off the road. It was in the midst of an installation by a local artist whose sculptures are worked in the local rock. 

Inside this exquisite church, the altar, baptismal font, and lectern were all his creation. 

Over the altar were two sculptures–one of a crucified Jesus and the other of a resurrected Christ. 

This is where I stand. Between the suffering of Jesus and the light and joy of the resurrection.  It is the place I am, and it is holy. 

Filled with the beauty of our very brief in miles road trip we returned to our hotel to dress for dinner. 

As we waited and waited and then waited some more for dessert to be served, good conversation with laughter was enjoyed. Turns out, the chef really did have to bake my cake!  Halfway though enjoying it’s luciousness, we saw two photographers running through the lobby and outside the front door. Hurrying from our  table, leaving our food behind, we went outside to see the green swirl and dance of the Northern lights. 

If the cake hadn’t needed time to bake, we’d have missed the lights. 

The suffering Jesus. The resurrected Christ. 

And the place in between.

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